The Nutcracker Bleeds (18 page)

Perhaps
that was
her
curse.

Anne
almost lost herself completely in those thoughts, but her eyes focused on the
hands of the watch, and a registration of the time furrowed her brow.

12:05

“Is
this right?” she inquired, tilting her head. “No, it couldn’t be right.”

“Why
wouldn’t it be right?” Armand asked, stepping up beside her. Had he been
standing by the whole time as she’d stood there?

“Because,”
she said. “I remember waking up in this world when the clock struck midnight.
The chimes woke me up. If that’s true, and it’s also true that this clock is
correct, then that means I’ve been through everything this night in only five
minutes. That’s impossible.”

The
nutcracker was silent as he considered, and then finally spoke. “Oh yes…I
forgot…”

There
was something different about his face. It was hard to read without seeing his,
but his brow seemed to furrow like her own. Something was bothering him?

“It’s
part of the curse,” he explained. “I’ve lived it so long that I didn’t think
about it being abnormal to you.”

Her
confusion deepened, but she remained quiet to await the rest.

“I
told you that the toys are only allowed to walk in the night when the humans
cannot see? After midnight, the time slows in this world. Minutes become
hours.”

Her
mouth fell open, but she could not speak.

“Somehow,
it still corresponds with the flow of time as you know it. I know that because,
watching the people, they don’t seem to be moving at a slower rate, they simply
take longer to do things.”

She
was about to ask him ‘how?’ but then she remembered.

He
wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know how the curse works, after all.

Judging
by the clock, an equivalent of five hours had passed so far–from the book
castle to the jester, to the termites and back again with the nutcracker, to
Clara and the attic. Now here. If that were so–

The
nutcracker finished her thought as if reading her mind.

“If
it makes you feel any better, you still have plenty of time to fix things
before that world wakes up and they find Olivia gone.”

His
assertion offended her. He had her completely figured out so quickly?

“Why
would you think that would be my only concern?” she asked, her voice severe.

Armand
did not hesitate with his reply. If she believed he could laugh, she thought he
might have done so then.

“You’re
selfish.”

He
turned and walked away, just when she’d gotten the mind to tell him a thing or
two about being
selfish
. But what would be the point? He’d argue with
her and force her down until she had nothing else to say.

Yes,
you’re learning
,
she told herself. Somehow, the thought didn’t comfort her.
 

1

The
Shaman was rumored to have eyes everywhere–in every room; in every crevice of
this house. Armand seemed to hope this was true, while the very same thought
made Anne uncomfortable. To think that one could know everything by simply
watching
was unfathomable, but that was the Shaman’s game.

As
the nutcracker understood it, when a toy–or rodent–came to the Shaman asking
for his infinite knowledge, he would tell them what he required in exchange for
what he knew. When the client provided the Shaman with what he asked, he would
be happy to share his wisdom.

Armand
knew that he shouldn’t be seen with Anne by anyone, but he also wasn’t willing
to let her out of his sight now. It was for this reason he had insisted that
she take down her hair and keep her distance from any onlookers within the
Shaman’s realm.

It
hadn’t been long since the mice had been after her in the attic, and the
nutcracker hoped that it was still too soon for the mock–oracle of a toy to
know that the two of them were together. His intention was for the Shaman not
to recognize Anne as anything but a doll, for if he did, there was no way to
know who the information would be shared with.

Armand
knew he was already taking a huge risk by going to the Shaman himself and being
seen openly by one who–if the rumors were correct–most assuredly knew who he
was, but he had plans to protect himself and imagined it was worth the risk. He
had
to know about his enemy.

Anne
trailed near him now, and he examined her as she walked along with the marble.
He noted her slight unease. With her long hair hanging around her, it was
almost hard to tell that she wasn’t simply a doll.
Almost.
Still, if the
Shaman was a sharp as he’d been told, that toy would know the difference. That
toy would also most assuredly try to find out anything that he could about Anne
and Armand himself while they were there, in case he might need it later in
another instance.

Armand
couldn’t let that happen. It was best that Anne stayed quiet no matter what.

At a
sight in the shaft above, the nutcracker’s thoughts halted and his reflexes
took over. His mind triggered his arms to act. One hand reached out and clamped
around Anne’s arm, drawing her in with an iron grip. When she was against him,
the other hand shot to her mouth. She’d managed to make a little sound of
surprise, but it didn’t seem enough to wake them.

He’d
probably jerked her too roughly; he knew that. But there was no time to shower
the woman with concern. The silence settled around them a moment before he
lowered his mouth close to her ear.

“Stay
close to me and keep quiet. They’re asleep.”

The
nutcracker did not expect her to know what he meant. He simply expected her to
obey. She would. This one was getting smarter. He took the cat’s eye from her
until it nearly went out, and then placed it back in her hands.

Armand
took her arm again–much more gently this time–and the two of them started off
through the dark slowly.

2

Anne
heard the nutcracker’s instructions easily, but they confused her. What was
asleep? She saw nothing but darkness now that he’d all but extinguished the
light. Still, she knew better than to open her mouth and argue with him.

I
need him.
Yes, without him she’d likely be dead.

Anne
looked around herself cautiously, somehow feeling safer–
hidden
–beneath
her own hair. Leaning against the metal ridges of Armand’s side also made her
feel protected, though she wasn’t sure why. He could have easily crushed her
there if he’d gotten the notion. She didn’t think he would. Trust? She wasn’t
sure she’d go that far.

The
pace that the nutcracker had chosen was scaring her even more. Moving this slow
meant that whatever was there was very dangerous indeed. He said they’d been
sleeping
.

She
suddenly imagined several massive rats resting along the sides of the
shaft–imagined walking along, stepping on one of their tails…

She
turned in further toward Armand, careful not to step on his feet. It was like
some sort of odd dance. He put his arm around her, holding her in. Yes, this
was much better. If she walked along the same path as he did, she surely
wouldn’t make any mistakes.

She
leaned her head against his wooden chest, her eyes darting around before her in
what looked like a clear stretch. The fact that she couldn’t see what she was
being cautious of made her teeth clench harder together. Her eyes squinted, not
wanting to see anything that might jump out at her. She couldn’t close her eyes
completely, for she truly would lose her balance. Just doing the only thing she
could do–letting him support her–she moved on.

And
then a strange sound from within the nutcracker pulled her attention from her
invisible fears.

Anne
pressed her ear harder against him, making sure the sound was not simply her
imagination. She understood then that she hadn’t imagined the sound, just as
she had not imagined this world.

Th–thump.
Th–thump.

He
has a heartbeat,
she
realized, her mind racing off on a different track.
But that’s impossible!

Abruptly,
Armand swung her backward, pulling her off her feet to force her behind him.
She gasped a little, but managed to control her voice. For the time, she
completely forgot about the sound of a heart beating inside his wooden chest.
What had happened?

He
guided her a different way and started forward again, and as they passed the
spot he’d pulled her from, Anne saw it.

Feet.

A
pair of wooden feet dangled from the ceiling of the shaft, her face passing only
a short distance from them. They swayed gently, giving the impression of a
person hanged, drifting with a rope that she didn’t see. Her eyes trailed up
the legs and into the darkness as she passed. Those legs led to a body, and
from the body, branched arms. Above all that was a head, tilted down against
the toy’s chest, limp and lifeless. Attached strings supported the weight of
the toy–the
puppet
.

Anne
hated puppets. She was completely biased against them since the jester.

The
most terrifying thing about it was not the simple fact that it was a puppet,
however. The hands of the thing had been converted to weapons. This one that
she was nearly too horrified to look at had one long arm that was a corkscrew.
The other was the lower spike of an ice pick.

Anne
forced herself to look away, but it was much too late to have her fear with
ignorance. The dangers were no longer invisible.

There
were
dozens
of them.

Marionettes
of all sorts hung from the ceiling inertly, all of their bodies laced with
weapons. One fancily–dressed lady even had her whole body embedded with a pair
of scissors. Anne saw them all now, could hear the sound of the strings
tightening as they swung gently. It was smothering.

Her
breath was picking up but she wrestled to keep it down. She needed air. The
shaft was too cramped! She forced herself to only look straight ahead, but the
space in front of her seemed to get narrower as she looked on. It was too hot!
The air was too dirty! She was going to sneeze…

Anne’s
legs gave way beneath her before she could convince them that they had enough
strength to keep walking. The ground was rushing up to meet her–but then she
lost her breath as something caught her around the middle. The shadows of the
shaft were closing in. She was
flying
.

Before
she gave in completely to the darkness, she heard a mild rattle of wood from
somewhere above.

3

In
the blackness, Anne dreamed. This was a real dream, and not something she’d
simply perceived to be the twisted illusions of her mind. In fact, it was the same
thing she’d been dreaming before she’d ever gotten into this mess.

She
was dressed like an enchanting doll, standing in a room of large tile that
seemed to span for miles. Sounds of a battle touched her ears, and when she
lifted her eyes, she saw Armand. As in her first vision, he was
battling–fighting for her. This time, not a mouse. A large
rat.

With
the sword of red glass, he cut down the rodent, chopping through its head.
Blood ran out across the pale floor of the battleground, and the nutcracker
slumped to the floor, holding his bleeding arm.

It’s
just as before.
And just as before, she ran to him.

The
blood collected in her dress, weighing her down like hands tugging at her.
Still, she ran on. She felt panic,
concern
, only for him and not for herself.
What was wrong? He was bleeding.
He shouldn’t bleed.

Anne
ran until she fell, still some distance away. Her body hit the floor hard, but
somehow, it didn’t seem to hurt. She moved a little, tried to pull herself back
up–only she couldn’t, paralyzed from the waist down. She twisted her head to
look behind her, and even though the dress she wore was long and full, she
could somehow see her legs. They had turned to porcelain, unmoving.

She
could hear Armand’s heartbeat, pumping, but slowly fading. She couldn’t get to
him. Her hands reached forward to drag herself onward, but she couldn’t grip
the floor because of the blood.

“Armand,”
she heard herself
say.
“I didn’t mean what I said.”

Anne
awoke. Not in her soft bed, but in the shafts that she’d spent the last five
hours–
minutes
–in. She was sitting, propped against the wall. There was
warmth inside, and she felt a little better despite her aching head.

Looking
to the side, she saw Armand standing a short distance away, leaning against the
wall. His body was slouched, arms hanging loose at his sides. He was staring
straight ahead at the wall across from him–or at least that was what she
guessed. With him, one never knew what to expect.

Beyond
him, she could see a large cloth hanging in the shaft, blocking the opening so
that she could see no further. At least now they were past the puppets. Anne
wondered if she’d awoken them. She wondered if he’d had to fight them all while
somehow managing to keep her from harm.

She
was afraid to ask.

“I
can’t believe I fainted,” she said, looking away from him and rubbing her
throbbing temples.

He
said nothing. Was he angry? She wondered if that bothered her.

“Did
we make it to the Shaman?”

This
was also a very touchy subject. Perhaps he’d been forced to take them off in
the wrong direction just to avoid danger because of her.

“Not
far,” he said, stepping away from the wall. At the sound of that, she nearly
sighed with relief.

He
walked to her position and she examined him in the bit of light that came from
behind the hanging cloth. There was a spot of something on his face. Was it
blood? He offered a hand down to her and she accepted it without fuss, standing
on shaky legs.

He
moved to the curtain and lifted it slightly, turning back to her. Still, she
could not see what was behind it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go first.

“Whatever
he says, keep your mouth shut,” Armand warned sternly. “Be sure to stand behind
me. And if you can help it, stand still.”

He
made a notion for her to go past the curtain. Feeling a bit apprehensive, she
walked toward it.

“Before
I even ask, I know I shouldn’t bother, but why should I do these things?”

“I
don’t want him to have a good look at you. Your body shifts too much. He’ll
know you’re not a toy.”

Anne
breathed out a laugh as she passed by him, crossing her arms defensively as if
the notion was ridiculous. But, of course she knew what he must have meant.
Even with the thick, scratchy material of the doll dress, she was obviously not
made out of china or wood.

“What
in the world are you talking about?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Instantaneously,
she felt a firm smack on her rear end. A gasp and a jump of surprise came as a
response.

“
That
,”
he said simply, stepping past her beyond the curtain and letting it fall back
into place.

Not
realizing her actions, Anne instinctually covered the targeted area–as if there
was any more threat to it now that he was in front of her.

“You’ve
been looking!” she accused in shocked disgust. Though she didn’t know why she should
have been surprised
. Every toy desires the feel of flesh
. His own words
to her.

“It’s
hard to miss,” he tossed out casually. She ground her teeth together,
continuing to hold her hands behind her as she followed him.

The
area they’d come into was not what she’d expected. In fact, the only thing in
front of them now was a small area with a vent. It was open.